The equinox is a time of balance, with the scales tipping tomorrow toward light, growth, and activity. We see the sprouts of what incubated dormant all winter, and we have the planning and promise of summer. For me, the balance between these two seasons is a turning point.

The things we planted last fall were rushed and haphazard, like a dropped box of mixed seeds. I don't yet know what we planted, or where, and I don't know how these things will fit into who I am or where I am going. It's still to early to tell, and there is some thinning that will be required.

Summer, however, carries the promise of planning and planting, of intention. We are to a point in the year, in our life, that we must conscientiously decide what seeds to plant in our garden, in our children, and in ourselves. While cause and effect are ever present forces, we are in the position to decide our causes. To live intentionally, conscientiously; to manifest growth, joy, and beauty.

Blessed be!

All of us, even those who are not attached to any formal religion, have need of that which silent prayer satisfies. It is the need of gathering one's inner resources. –Felix Frankfurter

I used to pray. Not the kneel by the bed with hands folded kind of prayer- more the silent gathering of resources. I had my ritual. Every morning once the sun rose, I would open all the curtains (and windows, if it was warm enough). Top to bottom, front to back, starting near my alter, I'd welcome the morning sunshine into our home. I'd get my cup of coffee and ring my great chimes, which hung in the living room. Once counter clockwise, to clear our space, then once clockwise to bless it. I'd stand near the storm door if it was warm, drinking in some beautiful (summer) Oregon sun and fresh air, then I'd go on with my day. It wasn't much, but it centered me.

When things got too harried in the house, I'd smudge before everyone came home. Cedar counterclockwise, sweet grass clockwise, chimes to carry the intention to all the spaces I might have missed. This was my home-grown silent prayer.

I haven't prayed in 7 months. My alter, chimes, and herbs were in a box for 6 of them. Now my chimes are hung, but instead of being centered in our house, they hang on the edge in the sunroom. Their music no longer touches every room. My alter is still packed somewhere with knick knacks. My herbs are buried under orphaned remnants of hurried packing. My prayer was an organic part of my day, the space we lived in, the way I worked. I needed an external ritual for my inner space, and now that we've moved, my prayer is gone too. I start over.

This space will not accommodate that prayer because it didn't grow here. This rediscovery process will just be part of re-planting my roots. What grounds me here must grow here, and become entwined in this new space. My new prayer will be born of time and space- it will meet needs I didn't have in Oregon, and abandon those that did not move with us. It will be a natural extension of my old prayer, connecting these two places, but be unique to here and now, moving beyond that place and supporting me as I move beyond the person I was there. I just have to be patient and wait for it to grow.

Last Night's moon was the Long Night moon, and we celebrated it in a snowy mountain, glowing pale blue by the full moon, sharing light and food with my brother and his family for yule.

It was this, the lighting of candles and feeding an adult relationship with my brother that made me think of Long Night as a dark and cold night, full of fear and discomfort, waiting for the light to return. And indeed, things do look terribly dark right now. Our house in Oregon has been on the market for almost 4 months now, and it could be as long or longer before it sells. I fear overstaying our welcome with my in-laws, and already feel vividly the strain of not having our own space. Work is not what it should be, and I am not the person for the job, or environment, that I have. But I am the provider now, and a job hop doesn't seem like a good idea right now. Strain with my mother and terribly profound grieving for Oregon, where I found my peace, strength, and center, round out a deep deep depression. Indeed, things have never been so dark for me.

So I keep wondering when the trend will turn, when the sun will return and I can feel warm joy again. I thought first that this is what Long Night moon means to me right now. And while it's hopeful of a new turn next month, it's still a dark space to dwell in.

As I researched this moon, however, I found a more hopeful interpretation.

Long Night moon would be the time, in more rural communities, of rest and waiting. Today, of course, there is as much or more work this time of year and no natural lull when winter falls. The ground slumbers, the fields lay fallow, and men rest, waiting patiently for a spring they cannot rush. The coming year they cannot know. They can only rest themselves for the effort that lies ahead. We must wait and accept the time it takes for the seasons to turn.

And in this thought, I think I have found my answer. I cannot force Spring. And while it is dark and cold and painful now, I must accept and endure it because it is the natural motion of these things. I can merely light my yule candles and wait for the warmth of the sun to return; I can and must rest for Spring, and the back breaking labor that comes with it.

Blessed Be, and bright holiday wishes for whatever you choose to celebrate!

Today's moon is the Wolf moon, which obvious jokes aside, I don't get a strong sense of. It is supposed to refer to the hungry wolves howling in January- quiet a different image than that of yule's abundance. I guess that's how January feels to a lot of people; they hear their inner stomach grumbles after the abundance and gluttony of the holidays.

I have a different kind of hunger now though; aside from the ravenous pregna-appetite, of course.I feel empty emotionally- my stores are depleted and I have begun to hoard the very last crumbs that lay there. I do not know how to replenish, and like the wolves, lament and fear the possibility of perishing from want. I am going to the coast at the New Moon to do some work releasing the hurt I have had such difficulty moving past- I hope that in the course of that process, I can also get a glimpse into what it would take to feed myself a little as well. Plant a few seeds, if you will, providing myself something nourishing to look forward to in the near future. Blessed be.

Tonight's moon is the Barley moon, a night to contemplate the cyle of life. Tonight also ends the first full day after confirming our miscarriage. It seems appropriate then that the full moon in all her round mother glory is obviscated by clouds tonight.

We have, in an instant, touched both life and death. While our baby was little more than a growing bit of life, I shared a few weeks with another spirit and that does leave an imprint. I do not believe her spirit is lost. I believe she may choose to return in a more viable vehicle, if that is part of the larger plan-- because of this, I dont grieve as deeply as I expected I would.

My grief is not tempered by a lack of time or the logic that an embroyo is only half a person. I grieve only for the loss of the dreams we shared, as a family. I grieve for the loss of being pregnant and sharing my space with another wonderful human being who has chosen to be our child.

And while this grief is real and whole to me, it is not all consuming. It merely points me to the future when the opportunity and dreams will again be ours to share.

In this, I realize that this is the peace that people's faith provides them in times of crisis. In affirming my beliefs on my journey to an outward faith, I feel that I have connected to that greater strength and that infinite wheel.

This is the first time in my life that I have been comforted fully by my faith rather than suspicious of it, testing it. For the first time, I have found my spiritual center and a place of peace. Blessed Be!

Today, I think complexity is an unavoidable part of age.

Common, and not so common, events in my life have reopened old emotional scars and resurrected fears I thought I had buried deep enough. But, for once in my life, I feel that the phrase "think before you speak" is just the tip of the iceburg. I think some of what I'm feeling should never be spoken at all.

When we are young, we say what comes to our mind. We do not care what others will think because we have no comprehension that what they think will be any different than what we think. As we get older, we watch what we say, ever cool, for fear that what we let slip will be turned as weapons against us in the terrible war that is modern adolescence. We find ourselves, and open again, convinced that those around us will accept us for who we are.

I don't know what happens next, however, because I'm still stunted and learning how to open. However, I realize that words are very delicate and dangerous things, even if they are never released. And I know that the things I don't say, won't say unless I'm cornered, will color all parts of me, becoming one of those historical experiences that makes me more difficult to understand or anticipate (and probably more difficult to deal with-- we'll see).

It's been one of those days. And the thoughts and feelings that have come of it will only pour into all the other histories, layering into who I am and coloring time going forward.

It's amazing how far we go, only to return to where we began.

Let Go
(5/5/03)

Run away
and take it back
take back the life you once knew
would be your own

Reclaim your passions
your wild abandon, your wonder
shrug off the mantle you've so eagerly sought
leaden and dark
and run naked in the sun
unencombered and laughing

wrap yourself in wine, the warm glow of infatuation
and chase this flight of fancy
sing the songs you've silenced needlessly

allow yourself to soften
let time move past without care
it was never yours to manage anyway

drift along with pleasure
appreciate, reciprocate
you'll only know it when you stop demanding it
and allow yourself to be moved

It's not as dangerous as you've believed
Let go
and discover who you have this chance to be